


Sometimes

by LadyBraken



Series: HERE [3]
Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-11
Updated: 2019-11-11
Packaged: 2021-01-27 07:50:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21388669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyBraken/pseuds/LadyBraken
Summary: It took an elbow in a jaw and the threat of hanging for the men to let Crozier go. He refused to listen to Franklin's warning and rushed inside the ship.
Series: HERE [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1527704
Comments: 1
Kudos: 8





	Sometimes

**Author's Note:**

> FINALLY, the last part of this! I totally didn't manage to do the entire Halloween challenge, but at least this is done. Hope you'll like the ending!

It took an elbow in a jaw and the threat of hanging for the men to let Crozier go. He refused to listen to Franklin's warning and rushed inside the ship. 

The first thing he saw was blood. Blood on the walls, on the floor, blood on Thomas Jopson, and before the image registered in his mind he was on his knees near the young man. 

“Thomas?” he put his hand on Jopson’s pulse - it was steady. He let out a breath. “Come on, Thomas, wake up!”

Fitzjames - how had the man followed him? - knelt next to him. The man had been in similar situations, Francis knew, yet it surprised him when Fitzjames put a feather-light touch on Jopson’s side and started to access his wounds. 

“His ribs are broken, and his arm.” he said, “We need to get him out of here.”

Between his arms, Jopson moaned in pain. Francis pinched his lips -

_ Sthap sthap sthap - bloody hand - wood, dark - Harry you need to get out of here - Sthap sthap- _

“- Francis!”

The slap of his given name brought him back to the present. Francis stared around him- to Fitzjames, who was staring at him in fear, to the bloody handprints on the walls, to jopson, still unconscious in his arms. 

“Goodsir - the doctors. They’re in danger.”

Fitzjames stared at him like he had sprouted a second eye instead of a third eye. francis wasn’t sure of what Fitzjames saw on his face, but the younger man nodded and rose. “We get Mr Jopson out and we go.”

Francis nodded and, with infinite care, he tucked Jopson against him and carried him across the corridor. Fitzjames helped him raise the young man until young Hartnell and Blanky could catch him. 

“You take care of him, huh?” 

Blanky met his eyes. “We’ll take care of them all, old boy. Now go.”

\---

_ Sthap sthap sthap.  _

_ _ The noise stopped. 

The three doctors stilled. Slowly, very slowly, Harry saw Macdonald reach for a scalpel, and Stanley leaned away from the door, his long hand gripping Harry’s forearm. 

No human could make such sounds. 

Suddenly, in the eerie silence, Collins started to laugh. The noises stopped a second, before continuing quicker, stronger,  _ in their direction _ . 

\---

By the time Francis rushed into the sick bay, it was destroyed. There was blood everywhere. The smell - the sight- nausea clung to his throat. The hands were everywhere around, their marks on every corner. 

Fitzjames rushed behind him and Francis made a move to stop him from entering - but there was no point in that. The young man would want to see for himself, the captain just knew it. 

Crozier watched, powerless, Fitzjames’s eye widen in horror in front of the carnage. The young man was shaking. He fell next to the remains of what must have been Stanley not so long ago. The blood was still fresh - the bodies surely still warm. Fitzjames reach out a trembling hand before stopping above the gore - not quite daring to touch it, not quite daring to pull away. 

Slowly, ever so slowly, Francis reached to put a hand on the man’s shoulder - to pull him away. Grief hadn’t had the time to rush into his own heart - Macdonald had been his friend, Stanley a valuable surgeon, Goodsir-

There was a smothered cry. 

Immediately, Crozier rushed to the origin of the sound. It came from Inside one of the cupboard. Crozier opened the door, only to find Goodsir hiding in there. The man was shakin like a lead, his knees up to his chin, his eyes red with tears. Before Crozier had the time to move, he was pushed aside by a panicked James. Goodsir sprang from his position to the second’s arms, clinging to him like a lifeline. 

Fitzjames whispered a litany of reassurances, rocking the assistant surgeon softly. “What happened, Harry?” he asked, “what happened?”

Goodsir took a deep, shaky breath, his eyes staring at the mangled corpses on the other side of the room.

“We should take him up before he talks.” said Crozier as gently as he could - which wasn’t quite much in these circumstances. He nodded towards what was so captivating Goodsir horrified attention, and Fitzjames nodded. He made to get up.

“No!” cried Goodsir, “No we can’t go there!”

“Wha- why? Harry, please tell us-”

Goodsir gripped Fitzjames’s arm tightly. “The  _ thing _ . It- it came- and…We stayed still, I swear we stayed very still, but Collins started to laugh and  _ it knew! _ Macdonald tried to defend us and, we couldn’t see a thing. It was like the - the hands everywhere, but with no body  _ and it killed him.  _ And Stanley he - oh I should have listened,, I know I should have listened, I’m so, so sorry!” The man started to breath faster and faster - as if air was lacking, “He pushed me in the cupboard, and he closed the door. I- I  _ heard. _ ”

“It’s ok, Harry. You don’t have to say more-”

“No, you don’t understand, you- Collins,  _ before _ . He said that someone had asked him to...draw the symbols on the floor. He said  _ the captain _ .”

There was a pregnant pause. A very, very long one. Fitzjames eyes seemed lost somewhere the same place Crozier’s heart had run to. 

Running footsteps woke them out of their transe. The sergeant Tozer appeared at the door, red and breathless, a gun at the ready. 

“The Captain sent us here.” he said as Crozier saw the red coat of the other marines appear. The sergeant stopped when he his mind caught up with the scene in front of him.

Crozier paled. “We have to get out of here.” he said. He rose to get closer to Tozer. “If you hear something, see something on the walls, you run. You take your men and you run, don’t try to fight back.” he whispered. Tozer couldn’t have looked more afraid if he tried. He clenched his gun. 

“Yes, Sir.”

\---

_ Sthap sthap sthap _ . 

The second he heard it, a shiver ran on Blanky’s spine. He stared at the dark hole in which his oldest friend had disappeared. 

Blanky walked towards Franklin. The man was looking at the horizon - for the fuck all he’d see there- his hands behind him back as if all was well.

“Sir.”

“Mister Blanky. How can I help you?” he asked ever so polite. His gaze didn’t move. 

“The men are scared, sir. I think we should take some of them out to  _ Erebus,  _ until things calm down.”

Next to Franklin, Lieutenant Irving and Little perked up.  _ Good lads _ . 

“Nonsense. I’m sure it will all be fine, once the criminal is apprehended. Until then, we will, of course, not leave behind the ship or the absent crew.”

The air was too still, Franklin’s face too blank

Around him, no one was making a move to go. Blanky whispered a “Yes, sir,” and walked back to where he had left his charge. 

He was a man of instinct and it sure was telling him to get the fuck out of here. 

Hartnell looked at him in alarm. “What are you doing?” he whispered. 

“We need to get out of here. Join the Erebus, while there still time. I have half in mind to get everyone here down and burn the whole ship.” 

“But we can’t do that! the captain-”

_ Sthap sthap sthap- _

“Listen to me, son. Franklin won’t move. He won’t evacuate. Trust me on this.”

Hartnell’s lips shook a little, but after only one second, he nodded mutely. Blanky put his hand on Hartnell’s neck. “You’re a good egg, kid.” he said. 

He’s not sure of what he’s doing. The admiralty would probably have his head for something like that, but there’s no head to have if everybody’s dead. Francis was down the ship with whatever had hurt Jopson like that, and Blanky could see in every pair of eyes that it would only take a little push before all the men run out of this damned ship. Whatever had hurt the young stewart, it was no man. Whatever had cut the head they found, it was no man. 

Blanky was pretty sure that hierarchy could be ignored in these circumstances. 

\---

Crozier was walking behind all the men. Both Sergeant Tozer and Fitzjames had protested, and Goodsir had widened his eyes, not to avail. There was no way Crozier would let one of the boys behind - what if they tripped and fell? What if they didn’t see the danger coming?

They rushed thought the ship when suddenly- 

Splinters of wood hit him from behind. He was propulsed forwards with a shout and crashed on the floor. 

Everything went black.

The whistle in his ears was the first thing that came back to him. The muffled shouts of the men. His name, perhaps, in the middle of the incoherent screams. The pulled his arms closer to himself and rolled to the side. A sharp pain shot through his leg and he groaned. He pulled on his arm until he was at least sitting and in position to see what was happening around. 

Even if he saw, eh couldn’t comprehend. In a blink, Heather, who had been only a few feet from him, was crushed against the nearest wall in a sickening crack. 

Tozer screamed and it was only by pure panic-filled instinct that Crozier managed to caught the man. Luckily, Fitzjames saw the movement and rushed to drag Tozer out. The man screamed and shouted, but other men came to help to the retreat. 

“We need to go!” shouted Francis, holding on a plank to push himself into a standing position. 

“Don’t I fucking know it!” growled Fitzjames next to him. 

Francis heard another man being trashed behind him. He didn’t take the time to turn around, focusing as much as he could to help the men near the ladder to get out.

They had no chance here. They were trapped in the smothering confines of the ship. 

_ Out, out, out _ !

He saw something rush at the corner of his eye. He fell on Fitzjames more than he pushed him. Just in time. 

Something crashed behind him. 

Francis saw the light fade from the room. Their escape had been shut. 

Silence. 

Francis turned. Nothing was moving but the drops of blood dripping from the ceiling onto the mangled corpses of the men that hadn’t managed to get out in time. The only reason he and Jame shad been speared was probably that they were hidden in the shadow, against one of the corner. Francis wasn’t sure how… the thing  _ saw _ its victims, but it was the only thing that came to his mind. 

It didn’t matter. The thing wouldn’t answer nicely if Francis asked him.  _ Him? _

_ It didn’t matter.  _

Behind him, he could feel Fitzjames shaking. Yet, the man stood his ground, still holding Francis’s arm to keep him upright where many would have run in panic. If his mind hadn’t been claughed by fear, Francis would have been impressed. Somewhat. Surely. 

Francis made a tentative step, holding the wood of the ladder for support. Nothing moved. 

He turned to see James’s wide eyes.

Surely, it wasn’t a good idea, but he didn’t have any other. The closest escape was the Captain Cabin. 

Fitzjames passed his arm behind Francis’s waist to support him, and they went, limping through the ship, jumping at each little noise. 

Francis turned to mock the door, while James went to look for the gun. 

He heard a crack, a stomp, and then all went black.

\---

Francis woke up with a searing pain eching through his skull. His hands were bound behind his back against the chair on which he was sitting.

Fuck.

The first thing he saw, was Fitzjames. Laying, face down on the floor. Blood trickling from his brow. 

_ No. nonononono- _

_ _ **Stack** .

He was here. Sitting behind the desk, like he had always done. Like Francis had seen him done so many times. Like nothing was wrong. 

Francis tensed on his chair. He growled as his leg jostled, sending a sharp pain through his whole body. He stared at Franklin. There was something really bad rising in him, something bitter and afraid that had been brewing for a very, very long time. “What have you done?” he whispered. 

Franklin sighed tiredly. 

“They called me “The man who ate his boots”. They humiliated me for that, but I did good, didn’t I? None of my men was killed for food.  _ None. _ ”

there was a pregnant pause. The ship creaked, and Francis shifted on his seat. His eyes went to Fitzjames, still laying on the floor, blood on his head. He was still breathing . _ He was still breathing _ . 

_ Come on, James, wake up _ . 

"We survived with only a few holes in our boots. Did you think such blessing came without a price? Did you, fool as you are, truly believed this?" Franklin loomed over his second. His eyes were wide and bloodshot, his mouth tense like a razorblade, twisted by pain. "They told me that my men would live, but others would die. Who was I to refuse such deal? If God wanted me to survive, then it was my duty. I WAS MY DUTY, FRANCIS."

“And you duty towards us? Your duty towards  _ him _ ?” Francis hissed, nodding towards the unconscious form next to them. 

A flash of guilt grossed Franklin’s face and he immediately turned his face away from the body of his protégé - well, Francis supposed James wasn’t his protégé anymore. He walked back behind his desk, putting it between him and his victims. “I never wanted it to happen. James should have been safe on  _ Erebus _ . They asked but one ship…”

Franklin shook his head. “I don’t know what went wrong. It should all have happened in one night - while everyone was asleep. I don’t know what went wrong.”

Francis sighed and let his head fall on the back of the chair. “I do.”

It was coming closer. He could  _ feel _ it. They had to get out of here. 

The noise shot again, and Franklin jumped slightly. 

Wait.  _ Wait _ . 

Franklin had promised them a ship, didn’t he? No name, just a crew. Not even numbers. 

Perhaps Franklin could be taken by them as long as he was on the ship. Perhaps they wouldn’t do the difference between his mortal coil and the other’s. 

Perhaps. 

He wouldn’t survive this. The truth of it dawned on him like liquid iron. But then again, he had never wanted to, had he? He had sailed, furious and feverish, to hide in his only home of cold unknow. To stay there, as long as he could. To be forgotten there, too. 

His eyes landed back on James. Young, vibrant James. James that had loved Franklin like a father - the pity was choking him. 

Yes, Francis would die. But he’ll die for something good. 

_ Stahp stahp stahp _

Francis took a deep breath.

Thomas would take care of young Jopson. He’d take care of the boys. It was good. 

_ Sthap sthap stahp. _

The door slammed open. 

Francis pushed until the chair fell on the side. He superessed a scream at the wood hit his arm with the full mass of his own body. 

The traces went directly on the ceiling and Francis stopped moving. Stopped breathing. He knew only half his body was hidden behind the desk - from the  _ thing _ point of vue. He hoped it would be enough. 

It was. He saw the red marks stopped and the hands turn into the other direction - towards Franklin. Luckily, Francis’s feet weren’t attached. He managed to crawl until his arms passed above the top of the chair. 

He was still tied, but at least he was free. 

Francis didn’t lose time listening to Franklin’s cries for mercy, to his screams. He didn’t lose time thinking about his leg giving more and more under him. He took a paper knife that he had let on the desk and sat next to Fitzjame’s form. As silently as he could, he cut the ropes, staring at the wall above the desk, unwilling to see the carnage under it. 

Finally, as the cries stopped, the ropes gave. There was a moment of silent incertitude, and then-

_ Sthap. _

Francis took the chair and threw him against the glass of the window.  _ Sthap, sthap-  _ He threw it again and again until the galls cracked and broke in thousand pieces. 

With a strength born out of despair, Francis managed to gather Fitzjames in his arms. 

He jumped. 

Francis had never dreamt of flying. He was a man of the sea - to climb on the mast was the closest thing he got to that. Yet, this fall felt like a flight. He clutched James against him and turned his weight as much as he could. 

He was the one that fell directly on the ground. James’s fall cushioned by Francis’s body. 

Francis didn’t felt pain. He felt cold on his back. Humidity. A ringing sound in his ears, and the sharp stab of the air in his lungs. He felt James over him, still unconscious, but breathing. He wished, for a moment, that they had the time to talk. 

He wondered if they truly could have been friends. 

He would have liked that. He would have liked that very much. 

—-

James woke up with a gasp. He looked around him frantically until a warm hand pushed him back on the bed. 

Mr Blanky was sitting next to his bed.  _ Erebus.  _ They were on Erebus - this was his cabin. “What-”

“Hush, now lad. Here, drink this.”

Once James had accepted the glass,and Blanky was satisfied with it, the ice master sat back on his chair. “Now lad,” he whispered, “I need you to tell me what happened.”

James was higher in command than Mr Blanky but right now, they both knew he couldn't be in charge. They both knew who would he making the decisions. So, James talked. He talked about the sickbay, the hands. The blood. The face-changing head, the hands, the hands,  _ the hands _ . Goodsir’s revelation, the marines sent like lambs to slaughter. Fighting, running alongside Francis. The cabin. And then, nothing.

At the end, Blanky sighed softly. 

“What happened next?”

The ice master looked torn. He stared at nothing for a long time, and took a deep breath. “We will never know exactly. I ran out of the ship with some of the men, and came back when we heard the shout. We found Mr Goodsir half freezing, with the marines, well, what was left of them. And then, when we got back to the ship, we found you and Francis. You had a severe concussion - and it appear that you had jumped from the back window. With what you said - I think Francis jumped with you in his arms. I think he was hurt and cornered and didn’t have any other solution.”

“You… you think? He hasn’t woke up yet?”

Blanky’s painful silence was more an answer than anything James would have wished. 

“We found marks of binding on his wrists. His leg was broken. He took the most of the fall - he had no chance to survive. He knew it, lad, and it was his choice. Don’t hurt yourself over it.”

James put his face in his hands. He knew what Blanky was trying to say. It wasn’t his fault. He didn’t know about Sir John. He had fought well, considering. Yet, yet, the crushing wave of grief threatened to swallow him whole. God, a few days before he never would have thought he would have felt something like that. 

It never had occurred to him that someone would die to save him. 

Especially not Francis. 

He should have known about Sir John. He should have known something was wrong. 

“God is in all realms… Sir John used to say that, God is in all realms. Don’t forget. He said that, oh my God, he said that…”

James was shaking. Crying, heaving. He just, just couldn’t bear-

Two arms circled him and tucked him into a hug

“He didn’t asked the right question, lad. He didn’t asked which god was ruling here. He didn’t ask because he knew the answer.” whispered Blanky. “I don’t know why, we probably never will. But we’re alive, lad. We’re alive.”

Slowly, James’s breathing slowed. 

When Blanky looked down at the young man, he was asleep. 

_ Sometimes, dead is _ better

FIN


End file.
